Two Dead Boys
by 000111100011
Summary: Off in the night while you live it up I’m off to sleep, waging wars to shake the poet and the beat.


Title: Two Dead Boys

Rating: PG-13/R

Pairing: Matt/Jonah, Reverend Popescu

Word Count: 975

Warnings: Gore, Ghosties, Abuse, and Religious Themes

Summary: Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep, waging wars to shake the poet and the beat.

A/N: A drabble written because I loved the story line for these three, and for the non-existent fandom, haha. It might be OOC, if that's even possible-- writing this was weird. Un-beta'd.

Disclaimer: I don't own the movie characters, or the people the story was based on, plus the summary goes to Kings of Leon, and the poem to you, anon.

_As I was going up the stairs,_

_I saw a man who wasn't there._

_He wasn't there again today,_

_Oh, how I wish he'd go away…_

The hospital lights flickered and Matt kept his eyes clenched shut to avoid seeing him again, the boy with the torched face. He wouldn't sleep, couldn't sleep; not since the first time he'd seen him; really seen him. It wasn't the blackened face, or the dark stare; it was seeing him in flesh-- when he was alive that drove Matt crazy. He was just a kid, not any older than Matt and whatever had happened to him; he didn't deserve it. Matt had cancer, he knew what it was like ending up with something you didn't deserve; it hurt, it hurt so bad.

He knew the boy wasn't real, wasn't really watching him, wasn't really staring at him while he futilely pretend to sleep. "You're not real, you're not." the whispering in his ear was just the wind, wasn't the boy trying to get him to open his eyes, to listen to him. It wasn't. But the hand, the hand had to be real, because he felt it, it was real; it was there.

"Matt?" the voice was too hoarse to be the boy, to be Jonah. "Matt it's just me, Nicholas." the Reverend paused and looked at the boys tightly closed eyes, the edges brimming tears; "Who're you seeing Matt? Do you know them?"

"Jonah." he was dying anyways, being crazy wouldn't be the worst thing on his plate right now.

"And who is Jonah?" he reached out to touch Matt's reddening hand when he didn't move to answer, "An old friend, or something more maybe? I'm just an old dying man, Matthew; I won't judge you."

"I don't know him. He's just here, he's always here. He won't leave."

"Why do you think that is?"

"It's--" Matt opened his eyes to look over his shoulder, "He's all burned, like he was in a fire you know? He looks so sad, and he always whispers; but I can never hear him. Not really, and I just want him to leave; or do something, anything. My whole family already thinks I'm a hassle, just wait until they find out I'm crazy too." he laughed removing his hand from the Reverend's.

"Being sick doesn't make you a hassle, piercing the veil is never something entirely comforting for a family; they're just not sure how to deal with it." Nicholas re-captured Matt's hand and continued to speak, "You remember when I told you about my wife? I know she saw more than me that day, I'm not sure if she even saw me at all; but I know she saw more. People that weren't there, but were there for her."

"But I did--" Matt rolled over and faced him, "I did what you said, I asked; and I don't remember anything. I don't know what he wants, and now I see him everyday, every night." he gripped the older man's hand tightly, "and I've seen him more than that, you know? Like I see things that happened to him, when he lived there-- weird stuff…stuff I can' even explain."

The nurse spoke before the Revered had a chance, "Your mother is waiting for you Matt, you're ready to leave for the night." He just nodded and got up from the hospital bed, releasing the Reverend's hand.

"Just want him to leave, Reverend." he whispered before following the nurse out.

He was there again in the night, looking at Matt; whispering words that made no sense, but tonight Matt didn't keep his eyes closed. Tonight he listened, and watched, and waited. The creaking noise the door made didn't surprise him like it should've and he got out of bed without an reservations and walked into the room, waiting for the boy again, for Jonah.

The Jonah that was in there wasn't burned, or even broken; just there. Standing next to an older man, watching him carve those words the boy had been whispering into his ear, some of it looked like Latin; the rest just jumbled symbols. Matt was scared, but Jonah looked even more frightened than him; watching him shake as the man in the glasses desecrated the dead body.

He thought he was just walking away, but it only took a moment for him to realize that Jonah was walking to him. "Stop." he whispered to the quickly advancing dead boy, "Just stop, already." but he didn't stop until he stood face to face with Matt, "Why did you do this?"

"I didn't do anything." it was the first words out of his mouth that he was able to understand, "I didn't want to do anything, he's all I have."

"But it's not right, what he's doing--"

"You forgave your father? When he drank, when he fought with your mother. Scared your family."

"It's different."

"You love him, he's family. I just want to fix it, we didn't mean to hurt anyone." Jonah moved and Matt felt the ghostly hand touch his face, "If I don't, they're be angry again; and you will lose everything."

"I don't--"

"Then help me. Help me help them, they're not to blame for what they did to us."

"Your burns-- then?"

"They were angry."

"You didn't deserve it, it wasn't you. It was him though."

Jonah let his hand glide down to Matt's shoulder, "Dr. Aickman? or God?"

Matt's fist clenched and he looked past Jonah and to the older man who was still carving up the body, "Both."

"You don't deserve to die; but it isn't your fault. It's no ones fault. Everyone dies."

"Everyone dies." he whispered back, he looked back at Jonah who was leaning in towards his face, eyes closed. Matt mimicked his movements and felt just the lightest touch of something, maybe skin-- against his lips before he opened his eyes again and he was laying on his bed, staring at the stucco ceiling, alone.

_Last night I saw upon the stair,_

_A little man who wasn't there._

_He wasn't there again today,_

_Oh, how I wish he'd go away._


End file.
